The Boy Ranchers Among the Indians Read online

  "Well?" questioned Rosemary.

  She was eager to get some action.

  "This is what I'll do," said Floyd, after some tense consideration,

  "I'll take a look around and see how matters shape up."

  "Then what?" asked Rosemary.

  She was evidently not going to let the matter go by default.

  "Well, then if I can't see anything better to do then what you proposed, we'll go to it!" decided Floyd. "You sit here and I'll scurry around. I won't be long."

  "No, please don't," begged Rosemary. "If we're going to do anything we'll have to do it very soon. This can't last—much longer!"

  Floyd did not stop to ask his sister just what she meant. In fact he did not dare question her as to what it was that could not last "much longer." He had a desperate fear that it was Rosemary's own spirit that was on the point of breaking.

  Up to now she had kept up her courage remarkably well. But there was a limit, and if the breaking point had been reached Floyd did not know what would follow.

  He shot a quick look at the girl before he started out on what he thought might be a last desperate venture. He felt that he might discover something to do—some way of escape—that would not make it necessary for his sister to virtually rush into danger.

  And he was relieved when he saw the calm and cool look that was on

  Rosemary's face.

  "She isn't going to give up!" decided Floyd.

  There was an exultant feeling in his heart.

  During this talk between brother and sister the dirty Indian detailed to guard the captives had sauntered within view of them every now and then. To quiet his suspicions, in case he should have any, Rosemary and Floyd had spoken most casually on these occasions.

  The lad waited until the guard had come on one of his periodic trips of inspection and had dropped out of sight on a ledge of rock, and then Floyd started out.

  "Don't be too long!" called Rosemary in a low voice.

  "I won't!" he promised.

  Walking as aimlessly as he could pretend, Floyd started toward a break in the natural wall that ran in front of the prison cavern. He wanted to see if he could catch a glimpse of the Yaquis below him.

  "And I'd give a whole lot of money—if I had it—to see who is fighting them," thought Floyd. "But I haven't much left."

  He glanced ruefully down at his now soiled and torn garments. And as he thrust his hands into his pockets he missed many a trinket and possession. For nearly everything had been taken away by Paz, Mike or some of their rascally followers.

  Two or three Indians, some of them wounded, were coming back "from the front," so to speak. One of them glanced scowlingly at Floyd, as he passed the lad, evidently associating his wounds with the presence of the prisoner.

  "I'd give you a whole lot worse than that if I had a chance—Ugly

  Face!" thought Floyd.

  Another member of the renegade band grinned or—Floyd took it for a grin—as he passed. But none of them seemed to care where the lad went or what he did, and for this Floyd was glad.

  "I seem to be getting somewhere," he murmured. "Whether I can hit on any scheme to beat Rosemary's is a question, but I don't want her to take the risk unless there's nothing else to do."

  He had now reached a low spot in the natural rocky wall. He felt that if he could once get a glimpse at this point he might see something that would help him and Rosemary.

  And to his great delight, when he had sauntered, as casually as he could make it, to an observation point, what he saw made him gasp for breath.

  For, grouped closely together, below him, on a sort of big table of rock, were a number of the Yaquis. They appeared to be holding a sort of council or parley, and were gathered about an Indian to whom Mike and Paz often delegated certain duties.

  But this was not what caused the heart of Floyd to thump so desperately against his ribs, making such a noise, he wildly feared, that the pounding would be heard by some passing Indian.

  What caused him fairly to gasp for breath was the sight of a great boulder, poised on the edge of the natural wall, and hanging almost directly over the group of talking Indians.

  "If I can push that rock down on them it will do the trick!" thought Floyd. "It'll put some of 'em out of business, and the rest will be so frightened that they'll retreat. Then whoever is out there trying to break through to help us, will have matters their own way. That's what I'll do. Ill pry that rock loose and let it dash 'em on the heads."

  It was a horrible thing to think of, much more horrible to do, but the situation of Rosemary and Floyd was desperate indeed. The end seemed to justify the means.

  "The point is," mused Floyd, "can I shove that rock down?"

  Looking about him he saw that he was not observed. He quickly made his way nearer to the rock, and then, reaching out his hands, he pushed.

  Gently at first he exerted the pressure, and then putting more power into the shove he thrust with all his might.

  "It's giving! It's giving!" thought Floyd, with a desperate catch of his breath. "I can shove it down on 'em and dash 'em all up!"

  He exerted all his strength. The rock was moving, and even with all the villainies the Indians had to their discredit Floyd's nerve almost failed him as he saw the great boulder sway as if for the plunge.

  But to his chagrin he felt the rock move back toward him again. He tried to hold it away—to thrust it from him—but nature, in the guise of the attraction of gravitation—pulled the rock back into the socket-shaped bed where it had rested so long.

  It rolled back with a grinding sound, and Floyd feared, for a moment that he had loosened it so that it would topple back and fall upon his feet.

  But this did not happen. The great half-round stone oscillated to and fro and then came to rest. Floyd had only caused it to sway a little.

  "Well, I moved it!" he said with a gasp. "I'll try again. If I can only get it started it will do the trick."

  Again he pushed, with all his might, but again the same thing happened. He managed to make the rock sway outward, a little farther over the edge of the wall, but back it came again into its hollow resting place.

  Then Floyd understood the nature of the matter.

  "It's a balanced rock," he said to himself. "She's been resting here for ages, and you can move it just so far but no farther. It would take a team of army mules to dislodge it."

  He looked over the wall again. The Indians were still in the same place, eagerly talking—a score or more of feet below the boy.

  "It's too good a chance to miss!" whispered Floyd desperately. "I wonder if I can't find some sort of a lever and pry it loose."

  He looked about him. Not far away was part of a dead tree branch, thick as his arm.

  "Just what I need!" he exclaimed.

  He ran to pick up the branch and, returning with it, set one end under the balanced rock, that was still swaying slightly from his exertions.

  "Now for a last try!" murmured the lad.

  He bent his weight on the long end of the improvised lever. The rock seemed to rise from its socket bed, and to sway outward. There was an exultation in the boy's heart. He thought, in another instant, that he could send the great stone crashing down into the midst of the Yaquis.

  Then, suddenly there came a sharp report, and Floyd felt himself falling.

  His first feeling was that he had been shot and that this was the end. But he felt no pain, save a sudden bump as he sprawled on the rocks, and then he realized what had happened.

  He had pressed so heavily on the old and dried piece of wood that it had snapped and broken with a report like that of a pistol, and he had dropped.

  "Too bad!" murmured Floyd.

  As he picked himself up he saw two of the Yaqui Indians running around a rocky corner. They had evidently been drawn to the place by the sound.

  "No good letting them know what I tried to do," quickly decided Floyd.

  "It would only make it worse for us."


  Having decided on a line of action it did not take the lad an instant to carry it out. Quickly he picked up the broken pieces of his lever and started back with them toward the cave where he and his sister were held captives.

  "Make fire!" he said to the Indians. "Make fire—cook grub!"

  "Ugh!" they grunted. They evidently accepted this obvious explanation.

  Their suspicions lulled, they turned and went back the way they had come, pausing long enough, however, to watch Floyd enter the cave where Rosemary waited.

  "Well," she questioned, as he threw the broken ends of his lever on the rocky floor.

  "No go," answered Floyd despondently. "I had a peach of a chance to play a trump hand on them, but luck was against me."

  He told what he had tried to do with the rock.

  "Oh? I—I'm almost glad it didn't succeed!" said Rosemary with a shudder. "It would have been—terrible!"

  "Nothing is too bad for these devils!" cried Floyd. "But I give up. I can't think of anything more to do."

  "Then shall I try my way?" asked his sister.

  "It is a desperate chance," Floyd murmured.

  "But don't you think we ought to try it? We may be able to reach the wall, and get over, or go down the trail we came up. It was too steep for the horses, but maybe we can make it."

  The horses had been abandoned by the Yaquis as they entrenched themselves for this last stand. The animals could not make the ascent.

  "Well?" asked Rosemary of her brother.

  "I'm with you!" he said, with a sharp intaking of his breath.

  Then they got ready for the ruse Rosemary had proposed.

  CHAPTER XXV

  "ALL'S WELL!"

  What was taking place down below, Rosemary and Floyd could only guess at. But that the rescuers were taking advantage of everything possible was evident from the occasional hits they made among the Yaquis. More than one was killed and several wounded as they fired over the top of the wall, or through loopholes amid the rocks.

  Then, soon after the determination at which Rosemary had arrived, there came a more violent fusillade than any that had preceded. In this several Indians were forced to retire because of serious wounds. Then the firing died away.

  Though the captive lad and his sister did not know it, this sudden cessation in the firing of the attackers was due to an order of the commander of the troopers. The captain was, also, nominally in command of the boy ranchers and their friends.

  "There is too much indiscriminate firing," decided Captain Marshall. "We haven't an unlimited supply of ammunition. We've got to go a bit slow. No telling how long we may have to camp on the trail of these imps."

  It was a wise determination as they all agreed, and the word went up and down the line of attackers to be sparing of powder and lead. This is what caused the troopers and cowboys suddenly to cease firing, following a desperate fusillade which they hoped would turn the tide of battle in their favor, but it had not done so.

  "We must size the situation up," decided the captain. "Find out just how many more rounds we have left—counting also the supply of our friends from Diamond X," he ordered an officer.

  And the taking stock of the situation was soon under way. That the Yaquis were as glad of the respite, as were our friends, need not be doubted.

  Advantage was taken of the lull to look after the wounded, and to bring water to the fighting men, for they were sorely in need of drinks. And warm as the water was, it seemed the best that had ever trickled down their throats.

  Back in their prison, Rosemary and Floyd noted the sudden silence that followed the brisk firing. Brother and sister looked at each other, and there was fear in their faces.

  "Do you suppose that means they have quit?" asked the girl.

  "Who?" her brother wanted to know.

  "The ones who are out there trying to help us—cowboys from our uncle's ranch, I hope."

  "I hope so, too, and I hope they haven't had to quit," spoke Floyd. "But we've got to go on with what we planned now. I'm for it as much as you are, Rosemary. Something has to be done! Are you sure you won't weaken at the last minute, and cave in?"

  "Did you ever know me to do a thing like that?" she asked with flashing eyes.

  "No, I never did."

  "Well, I'm not going to start now! Don't worry, Floyd. Somehow I feel sure that this will pull us through! I thought of it in the night—perhaps I dreamed it—and I have a feeling that it is going to work out all right. Don't be afraid. Let's try it with all our might! Are you ready?"

  "As ready as I ever shall be," was the grim answer. "But if you're playing a 'hunch,' so to speak, that's different. You always were lucky!"

  He laughed grimly, and Rosemary joined in. It was the first time they had laughed since being taken captives.

  As her brother had said, Rosemary was "lucky."

  For a moment brother and sister looked about them. They must act soon, and, after all, the consequences could not be much worse than those which continually were hanging over them.

  "Whenever you're ready—give the word!" whispered Floyd.

  "Now!" suddenly called Rosemary to her brother.

  "Come on!" he echoed.

  Together they rushed from the cave, straight toward the band of Indians lined up, with their backs toward them, along the wall of the improvised fort.

  What Rosemary said she never really knew. It was a burst of wild, hysterical yelling, such as girls and women alone are capable of. And as she screamed and ran she pointed back toward the cave.

  As for Floyd he declared that what he yelled was something like:

  "They're coming! They're coming! They're attacking in the rear!"

  To this he added some improvised warwhoops of his own devising, and some football yells, for he had been a cheer leader at one time for his college team.

  Whatever was said little mattered. It was the character of the shouting of the desperate youth and maiden, and their actions that counted. Coming as Rosemary's ruse did, after the hardest firing yet on the part of the attackers, it rather got on the nerves of the Yaquis if they had such organs, which is doubtful.

  To every one of them it appeared, as Rosemary and Floyd intended it should, that an attack from the rear was about to take place. As Rosemary had guessed, the Indians knew no more about the cave than she did. They had hastily examined it and decided there was no rear entrance or exit, as the case might be. But they might have overlooked some hidden passage, and this is what all of them evidently thought had been done.

  At any rate, as Rosemary and Floyd rushed out, yelling almost like Indians themselves, a panic started among the Yaquis. They saw themselves caught between two fires, with no retreat possible.

  With whoops of despair some threw themselves over the cliff. Others rushed into the cave, while some climbed up the rocky walls at either side. A few remained, firing down at the attackers below.

  Rosemary's yells, and those of her brother, carried to the soldiers and cowboys. At first they thought a sally was about to take place.

  But when they saw some Indians come over the wall, one luckless imp slipping and falling to his death, some idea of what was taking place became manifest to Captain Marshall.

  "They're in a panic!" he cried. "Something has frightened 'em! Come on, men!"

  He led a rush forward, just as Rosemary appeared at the top of the wall, waving her neck handkerchief in a frenzied signal.

  "There she is! Rosemary!" cried Bud, not exactly recognizing his cousin, but guessing the girl could be none other.

  The rush of the attackers, together with the panic that had run through the ranks of the Indians like wildfire, was all that was needed to turn the scale. The Yaquis, with howls of fear, not knowing what it was all about, threw down their guns and sought for means of escape.

  Mike, the leader, seemed dazed at the suddenness of it all. But he gathered his wits together and, seeing Rosemary at the wall, waving to the soldiers and cowboys below, the desperate Yaquis sprang to
ward her.

  But Floyd was watching his sister. The lad picked up a revolver from where it had fallen as its owner retreated and fired point blank at Mike. The ruffian crumpled up and went down in a heap, as Rosemary herself, unable to stand the strain longer, sank down half fainting.

  Her ruse had succeeded. The Yaquis were on the run.

  A few minutes later the place was filled with soldiers and cowboys who made prisoners of such of the renegades as were left alive—and these were not many, though they included Mike, who had only been wounded by Floyd.

  "Oh, Bud! I'm so glad! So glad!" murmured Rosemary, as her cousin put his arm around her—only one arm for the other was still sore.

  "So'm I!" murmured Bud. "This is another cousin—Nort," and he nodded toward his boy rancher companion. "And there's a third one down there—Dick—but he's hurt!"

  "Badly?"

  "Oh, no, just a piece of lead through his arm. He'll be all right in a few days. But say, Rosemary, what did you and Floyd do to turn the tables so quickly?"

  "Rosemary did it all," Floyd said with a cheerful grin. "It was just a bluff!" and he told the story.

  "Nerviest thing I ever heard of!" complimented Captain Marshall.

  "Heap good squaw!" was Buck Tooth's opinion, and that seemed to sum it all up.

  The prisoners secured, the dead on both sides buried and the story of the capture and rescue briefly told, arrangements were made for returning to civilization.

  The raid of the Yaquis was over, and so severe was the lesson taught them that it was many years before another trick like that was tried.

  Rosemary and Floyd, though they had suffered many hardships, were not physically harmed, except for the youth's wrenched arm, which was painful but not dangerous.

  "Oh, but we want some water to wash in!" Rosemary confided to Bud. "They've kept us so much on the go, ever since they captured us, that I can't bear to think of it. I just dreamed of clean bath tubs filled with white soap suds!"

  "We'll soon be at the ranch," Bud said.

  "Oh, but I can't wait until then."

  "Same here!" put in Floyd. "I don't believe a Yaqui touches water from the time he's born until he dies."